


Combustion

by CharismaticEnticer



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Bugs & Insects, Consensual Kink, Death discussion, Episode Style, Exhibitionism, Fire, Innuendo, M/M, No in YOUR end oh, Not Suitable/Safe For Work, On air, Oral Sex, POV First Person, Past Tense, Porn With Plot, Present Tense, Public Blow Jobs, Radio, Reunited and It Feels So Good, Spoilers, The Weather (Welcome to Night Vale), podcast style
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-07
Updated: 2015-02-07
Packaged: 2018-03-10 23:40:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,951
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3307469
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CharismaticEnticer/pseuds/CharismaticEnticer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fires of various colors burn in the sands outside of houses. Plus, an early anniversary present to remember, and how resurfacing roaches can lead to a decidedly Freudian slippery slope.</p><p>NSFW, mutually consensual, episode-style. Set after Carlos comes home.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Combustion

**Author's Note:**

> I know that ‘Cecil losing composure as Carlos sucks him off on air’ is so common amongst Listeners as to be a fanwork cliché by now. And I would be sorry, but at least this means that many many people share my self-proclaimed “FAVOURITE KINK IN THE WHOLE DAMN FANDOM”, which is a good thing for me, because holy fuck is the idea hot and I really REALLY wanted to provide my take on the concept. So in actuality I’m not sorry at all. (That's a first.)
> 
> Nonetheless, I wish to make it clear that this kink was consensual for both parties, because I know that can be a problematic aspect of the kink. For clarification as to how exactly Carlos **knows** it's mutually consensual, see “[off the vale](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1319245)”'s exhibitionism discussion scene.
> 
> Welcome to Night Vale is a production of Commonplace Books, and is presumably © Joseph Fink.
> 
> Edit: Let's get the weather right this time!!

Don't Care could never be _made_ to care. Don't Care is immune to our Secret Police. Curse Don't Care's government defiance. Curse. Him.

Welcome... to Night Vale.

♪♪♪

A philosophical question to start, audience. What does a day begin with?

Does it begin with the passing over from thirty-first to first, or fifteenth to sixteenth, or any other stroke of midnight? Does it begin when _you_ say so, ripping off an obsolete page of one of those flipbook calendars with the giant numbers on them, so that you can see the date even with tired and bleary eyes? Does it come on its own terms, using morning to creep into our comfortable, soundless dark?

Whatever the case may be, it's my journalistic and scientific-by-proxy duty to provide an answer that's _technically_ true, but answers nothing. Which is to say: today began with fire.

And I don't mean that in a 'anger like' or 'passion overload' sense, I mean literal fire. Weird batches of flame have sprung up, seemingly from nowhere, outside of the doors of certain Night Vale residents. They don't seem to be doing any structural damage to where they burn, or, indeed, moving beyond their fixed and inconvenient points. But it's enough to keep them trapped in their homes until things die down.

Michelle Nguyen, owner and proprietor of Dark Owl Records, was one of the first to be affected. She phoned the station this morning to let us know that a crimson fire was blocking the only way out of her – I'm not sure if she lives in an apartment, or an en-suite hotel room, or what; she kept changing what she said mid-sentence? Either way, she is trapped in there, with someone she simply calls, quote, 'Beach Boys Guy'. A more silvery-grey fire has left Juanita Jefferson and Claire Wallace, head of neighborhood improvement organization _Night Vale or Nothing_ and a freelance photographer respectively, stranded in one of the caravans of the Night Vale Caravan District. Two hooded figures are stuck in the rickety shed just on the Dog Park's borders, due to an oddly pink fire. And so on and so forth.

The change and shift in colours from pyre to pyre has left many witnesses wondering if the Night Vale school board's most prominent and incorporeal member, the Glow Cloud, is involved in any of this. But when asked about it, it denied being aware that the fires were around, let alone being the source of them, or of anything anywhere. It did so by spitting out three dead moose that it had been saving up for the past few days.

In response to this latest threat to our town security, Night Vale's top scientists have promised to examine the fires directly, in their own personal fashion. … Well, more accurately, _my_ top scientist has promised. My scientist, Carlos, who's currently in the studio, _physically_ , touchable and huggable and home!

“Cecil-”

I know, I know I keep going on about this, but... I'm just so glad to have you back.

“I know! I was just gonna say, you know how your good foot does that kicky thing whenever you talk about me? Like you've got a springboard attached to it?”

Yeah?

“I've missed seeing that kicky foot.”

And I've missed you, Carlos.

He's just got a few loose ends to tie up here at the station – seeing what's changed and what hasn't while he's been stuck in the alternate desert world beyond the old oak doors. But when he's done here, he and his team will take those technicolor infernos to task. So Michelle, Juanita, Claire, and all others locked up by them will only have to wait for... another half an hour, give or take.

More on this story, as fate transpires to make more of it.

⁂

Oh! Carlos, I think this next bulletin might be of interest to you.

“Uh-huh?” 

Diggers in the ever-expanding Bloodstone Mine Shaft, the one precariously close to the _Abandoned_ Mine Shaft outside of town, have hit upon a strain of bright green bloodstones.

As you know, Night Vale's bloodstones typically come in two varieties, each with its own intended use. Red bloodstones for teleportation and prayer circles, yellow bloodstones for construction and The Unspoken Purpose. The slogan of our stone-refining factory puts it best: 'Red circle, yellow square. Ignorants of this rule face the Dark Box. Followers of this rule face the Dark Box. We all face the Dark Box in the end.' _Uugh._

No one's found the abilities of these new green bloodstones as of yet, since they've only just passed up to the surface. One miner suggested to our back-up field reporter that they could drain the innate abilities of all telekinetics and pyrokinetics that walked near them.

'That's Kryptonite, you fool,' another miner interrupted, leaning on a nearby fence, shirtless and wary. 'And that's only in yellow sun anyway.'

'Our sun _is_ yellow,' said the first.

' _Sure_ it is,' said the second with a sarcastic drawl. 'Keeeeeep telling yerself that.'

To celebrate the new discovery, the City Council is opting to sell the green bloodstones for a discount price of $100, or $750 for a box of eight. The sale will last for five weeks, until the end of July. And... hey! Our two year anniversary is in July, Carlos! Pretty convenient, huh?

“Scientifically speaking, yes.”

I guess I know what I'll be buying my boyfriend as a present this year. I wonder what he'll get me, though? It's going to have to be something big. Something huge, something... mind-blowing. Something to make up for his being away from home for such a _long time..._

...I'm joking, of course. I know it wasn't his fault, and even if it was, I'm as much to blame for not looking for a door on my end. It's just such a relief to have him back here, at **last** , that I can't help--

Carlos? Where are you going?

“Giving you your present a little early.”

… What? Here? Right now?

“I mean, if you want...”

...Ah. It's all right, Listeners; he's picked up on some some 'radio activity' under my desk. He'll be back up in a minute.

⁂

In the meantime, here is a word from our sponsors.

A bell rings. A rope breaks. A man dies. We are none the richer for knowing the what, when and how.

The music stops. A woman dies. If we worked out why from the clues presented, it wouldn't bring her back.

A healthy being enters the hospital. A magnet flares. They die. The circumstances beyond their control are no sweeter tasted than untou-tch _\--_

'hem. Sorry.

So much death in these puzzles. Why are there never any about life, or rebirth, or food? Well, let's create a few.

The power comes back on. A man breathes fresh air, fresh scents. We are still none the richer for knowing what happened.

The earth is white. It spins a few degrees, and then it's green. Apply cold, _hard_ logic, or don't, and the res **ah** _\--_

– the, the, the result's the s-same each time.

Ground-up plants and water swell in- into something you can eat. Does the process ma-gahk-matter, as long as it's hot and fresh in your, um, mouth?

Don't fret over the details. Just live, and die, and... eat... and we will take care of the rest.

Perkins Restaurant and Bakery. Lateral thinking won't fill your sto— _oh christ--_ Ok- okay! Okay.

⁂

Our – Our little burg has had a strange resurgence of roaches recently, Night Vale. Apparent leftovers from the Subway stunt a short year ago, the thousand-strong r-roaches have been congre _ah_... congr _AH-ah_... _hiding_ at the back of Tourniquet to plan their methods of attack on us.

This would be a, a simple pest problem at any other time, but they're starting to infest and cause further problems in our fledging tarantula community. They're trying to undo all of the good work done by our Teach a Spider to Read campaign, by whispering the dangers that books pose into their ears, which. Which, while true, do _not_ affect spiders. The re-impregnated and dys _ca_ \-- dy- **ys** -calculic ones in particular seem to be the targets of their roachy raids. Roachy riots? Whatever it is roaches call that stuff, I'm no-ot...

Any- anyway. Surprisingly, Leann Hart has issued a semi-official decree in the Night Vale Daily Journal, w-warning anyone against harming the roaches, six of which she's taken as pets. And since it's being beamed into our heads compulsively each Monday to Thursday, the – we have to follow it exactly.

No matter how much we wish it, we are **not** to t-touch the roaches. We are not to crush them with our shoes, or hold them in our cruel, sl _end_ er fingers. We're not to squeeze-mm – to squeeze, to savour, to swallow, or to suck out any sweet juices from the cock-- **ROACHES,** cock **roaches**! We're just to l-eave them alone, and let them get about their business. Anyone who violates Leann's decree will have their subscription to the Daily Journal re- revoked, which'll-- which'll b- nn- y-yeah.

I'm – sorry, Listeners. Coherency seems to have- have quite deserted me.

_Ngh._

⁂

W-where was I?

Right, yeah. The fires. They're... they're still burning, from what the reports are telling us. In fact, they're coming up more and – more and more now, allllll over the show. Fires in blue, white, gold... It's- they just keep coming. Keep-

Um. They're not just locking people in-in their homes anymore, either. A long chain of fire has started bla... blazing at the- _th-th-- yes_

S-Sorry, got distracted. A-long-chain-of-fire-has-started-blazing-along-the-front-entrance-of-Big-Rico's. Mm. Considering today's the mandatory att-ttendance day, it's causing a lot of inconvenience for Big Rico himself, for the three people trapped ins-side, and for those who just want to get warm m- warm _meat_ and wheat-free bread into their system.

Uh, there's a quote from Big Rico here on the s-screen, but given my... current lack of – stringing-voice-and-words-together, let's put it l-like that, I'm electing not to read it. The general gist is, it's that they're still waiting on Night Vale's scientists to look at the problem. Speaking on the r-record here, maybe _my_ scientist should get a move on with, with his experiments and clean up so I can – I mean, so **he** can take care o-- Hm?

...What? Oh. Um, I think it was 'green'? Like, a mint-? Yeah, fairly certain the Rico fire was green. Why do you a- _aaask--?!_

Ah- I- okay, I think h-he's saying he's still got some un, unfinished _busi_ ness here.

⁂

Um, moving on to the, the community calendar.

Saturday – we're due for a heavy bout of rain on, on Saturday. Ma-ake the most of it. Drink it. Feed on it. Squirm as it goes down your throat _oh come on_ don't mock me again...

Ah-b- beware of moths come Sunday. They'll do all they can to p-plant their larvae in your clothes, cover your lightbulbs, and strip your flesh of its pump-ih-ng blood. Awkward things, moths.

Monday is a day of th- _thick_ and heavy irony. Everything you hear will be met with innuendo, will, will recall something you can't discuss out loud. Hah, l-like most days _aren't_ like that- _nng_ \-- hah.

Wednesday, it looks like it's running on— **Dammit,** I skipped Tuesday. Ha- hang on-- 's so hard to--

Tuesday will mark the beginning of, of a Glee marathon. As with all other marathons, it won't stop. It, it won't stop, it'll _never_ stop, this drawn out- this slow, musical, beautiful _torture,_ I wish it never _would_... Uh, the Glee marathon, I mean.

Okay, n- **now** Wednesday. It seems to be operating on schedule. Nooo delays here.

Expect Thursday, though, to be about two hours late due to an _ack-_ accident on the main timeline.

Fri- This Friday is Dream Amnesty Day. Take your dream diaries and bury them in the wrong place. Don't speak of, of the empty corridors. Don't speak of what the weather said. And please, if you have or are having the kind of dreams **I'm** having right now in this studio, definitely do _ooooooh god...!_

Aaagh. This has been... this has been the community calend--

What was that?

⁂

_Oh christ why now..._ Um, urgent an-announcem **ent** from the Sheriff's Secret Police here. They want me to run a, ch- Secret Phrase Refresher? O-okay...

Listeners, I'm go- g- going to say something very very import- _ah_ -nt, in the next t- minute or two. A certain two word phrase. It'll come out d-differently to everyone, some as a number, some as a name, s- but all equally imp- vital to your continued s-afety in Night Vale. It, it, it's important that you d-don't forget what you hear. It could s- it could stand between you and life, or you and l- _love_ , or whatever- but the phrase'll, it'll certainly save you from- it'll save- it'll save you fro **jesus** _**CARLOS--!!** _

 

…

'h... 'h... ah...

…

 

I... It...

 

Th – the weather.

 

[ ♪♪♪ ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=H0mefvfsjXg)

 

All right! 'hem. Listeners, I have some good news, bad news, and what may or may not be good news, depending on how you look at it. The good news is, as you can hear, I've gotten quite a lot of my eloquence back... not to mention one of my best anniversary presents ever. Bar my watch, of course.

The bad news is that I may have to watch my back around the Secret Police for the next month. If I'm unceremoniously ejected from the air, you will know why. Or rather, **some** of you will know why, and those that don't, you'll find out when you're older, and wiser, and so much different from the person you once were that it's hard to believe you were one and the same.

The news that varies is: one of the fires that has plagued our town for much of the day, the ones that burn in colours unseen in such things, is currently flickering outside of my studio door. It's making the place smell like winter, like... apricity. Its flames are touching the ceiling, and its core is – how would you describe it again, Carlos?

“Well, from a distance, it looked black, but now that I'm studying it up close, it's more of a... a deep blue, almost.”

You be careful over there. It may not be destroying any infrastructure, but it has to be giving out some kind of blistering heat, right? You've taught me that much before.

“Yes and no. There's heat, but it isn't tear-your-face-off heat, it's somehow cooler and warmer at the same time? Like the blowback you get from an air conditioner turned to just right. I'm putting my arm right through it, and it's not doing a thing! ...Well, it is, it's tickling a bit, but it's not doing anything _lethal_ , I mean.”

Fascinating stuff. And it means that those who claim to be trapped by the embers can resume their thrums of routine as they please. No interrupted shifts for Michelle Nguyen... No absences from meetings for Juanita and Claire... No wrath from the Hooded Figures.

“Or from Big Rico, for that matter.”

Yup. … God, I've missed this.

“Missed what? Big Rico?”

No, my silly Carlos! All of this. All of _you_. (For reference, audience, I've just made this big sweeping hand gesture like the ones Carlos makes all the time to encompass all of _him_ and everything he brings to Night Vale.)

“And I've missed all of you. Especially the – um. The kicky foot.”

Missing someone, however they relate and whatever they mean to you, can be a deep and powerful thing, Listeners. Whether it swallows you whole, taking your heart or arms away, or buzzes at the back of your head whenever you see a certain basket of apples, or a certain colour in the blend of sky and void that they love so, it is always there in some capacity when they're gone.

But the best part of missing someone – if there can be a best part of such an ugly feeling – is when they return, and slot back into their absent life and the world around them, and the world around you, so effortlessly, that it's like they never left. They are back, with their friends and their loved ones, for as long as they can physically and emotionally be back.

“Cecil?”

Make the most of them when they are. Because you never know when life will sever the space between you once more--

“Cecil?”

Y-yes, Carlos?

“Sorry, I never like interrupting one of your Palmer Philosophic Paragraphs, but - there's still something that bothers me. You mind if--?”

Oh! No, of course. Go ahead.

“I'm still not sure, looking at this fire or any of the others, what exactly is setting these things off. I mean, look at ours. One minute you were, um, cutting to the weather, and the next, _this_ happened. Something came _from nothing_ , which shouldn't be possible to begin with, but to do it this fast as well, with all the intensity of a--

 

… Oh. Oh my.”

I think you and I have just hit the same conclusion, Carlos.

“Y-es. Quite a lot of other stuff just made sense too. Though how the Hooded Figures could...”

… Well, it's not our place to speculate, is it? Our place is to experiment. Perhaps we should wrap things up here, go home, get our breath back, and... try to recreate the effect.

“I, that'd be great. For science, of course.”

For us, and science.

In the meantime, stay tuned for a continued look at the Encyclopedia of Connections, from D: Debris against Hooves to F: Flesh against Flesh. May you maintain _your_ connections tonight, Night Vale...

Goodnight.

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to Night Vale is a production of Commonplace Books. The authors and producer I have attempted to emulate for this story are Joseph Fink and Jeffery Cranor. The voice of Night Vale is Cecil Baldwin; the voice of Carlos is Dylan Marron; and I mean no disrespect to either of them. This episode's weather was "Teri Ankhon Mein" by Sunny Brown. Find out more at facebook.com/sunnybrownofficial. Check out commonplacebooks.com for the actual website of the show, and please please PLEASE don't tell them I posted this!
> 
> Today's proverb: You catch more flies with honey than with vinegar. Catch enough flies, though, and you'll be able to string together a fly net to snare the big ones. Be careful; those suckers can _bite_.


End file.
